Two Doctors and the Consulting Detective
by lovelyrosesandthings
Summary: Trying to make their relationship work, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes aren't sure what to expect when a madman with a box crashes in their flat.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello! This story is co-written with one of my besties! Her tumblr: forever-nerdy . tumblr . com (remove the spaces). Please enjoy! **

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><p>Chapter One<p>

It was a quiet evening at 221b Baker Street. The air was crisp and clear, on the cusp of turning into winter. For Sherlock, this was not only a quiet but also boring evening as he stared at John typing away at his computer. Sherlock heaved a sigh that indicated to John that he was bored and John needed to do something about it. John huffed and looked up at Sherlock from his computer.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Bored."

"Do you not have a case?"

"Obviously not, John."

"Then what do you want me to do? And I am not playing Cluedo with you again."

Sherlock sighed again in response and turned over on his side facing away from John, tucking his knees into his chest.

"Sherlock what's gotten into you? You're usually a bit more…lively when you are this bored…"

Sherlock got up abruptly to go to stare out of the window of their flat, watching the general public pass by. He then happened to see a strange man in a tweed jacket and bowtie running with a ginger girl and more normal looking bloke. He stared out of the window long enough to watch them disappear down the street. He shook his head at the strangeness of the moment then promptly turned back to John.

"John, can you describe love for me?"

John was surprised to say the least.

"Well, it's like… sort of when you… Why do you want to know Sherlock? Is there someone besides your work?"

John even more surprised when he saw that Sherlock was blushing. Not only that but due to his fair skin it contrasted heavily, making him even more obvious. Before John could control himself, he giggled a bit. Sherlock instantly turned to face John with glare and a very red face.

"It was a serious question!"

"Sherlock, it's just that, well, it's _you_. Why you need to know about love? I know it's not for a case because you've solved millions of cases where love was involved and not once did you try to understand it."

Sherlock glared at John a bit.

"There is someone isn't there?"

Sherlock winced, answering John's question.

"Oh my god, well, do you mind telling who she is? Or him, I don't really know with you. Or care, honestly…"

"He's very kind, too kind I should think but it works for him," Sherlock stops a moment to collect his thoughts, "and he's very, very brave. And compassionate, he makes me feel a little more human, and I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing."

John stared at Sherlock wide eyed, wondering who he was talking about. The first name that came into his head was Greg Lestrade. The description fit perfectly, Lestrade was a good and brave man and helped Sherlock through difficult times. But to think of Lestrade and Sherlock like that made John's stomach drop for some inexplicable reason.

John couldn't stop his voice from wavering a bit when he says, "Well, I'm sure you and the Detective Inspector will be very happy together, although I never that Greg would be-''

"Not him, you idiot! Can't you tell I'm talking about you, John?"

John's heart leapt into his throat, preventing him from forming words.

"Forget it. I'm going to bed."

Panicking, John stood up and reached for Sherlock's hand. Sherlock turned his head, meeting John's eyes. They stared for what seemed like eternity, and then Sherlock broke the spell. Sherlock gently tugged his hand from John's grip, and whispers, "I think it would be best to face this in the morning."

At that, Sherlock retired to his room, leaving John to contemplate what just happened.

John did not sleep well that night. The weight of Sherlock's words permeated almost every thought he had. John had no idea how to feel except that no matter what would happen he would never leave Sherlock. That was impossible, for the both of them. John felt comfortable with him; felt as if he knew Sherlock better than Sherlock knew himself. He had to admit that Sherlock was quite attractive, among his other attributes. John figured that if he fell in love with another man it might as well be Sherlock. He didn't know how much that said about his feelings, but it was the truth. Hopefully, Sherlock would see it the same way.

John made his way to the kitchen to try and find something at least edible in their kitchen. He went to look in the refrigerator to find that it was barren except for the bag of assorted thumbs. John sighed in frustration, _some things never change._ He hung his head for a moment then closed the fridge to go get dressed and then eat at the café. But he was in for a surprise when he Sherlock leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

"Blood hell, Sherlock! Trying to give me cardiac arrest?"

"You said you wanted to discuss this. Although, I have no idea _why_, I just figured you would just move out as quickly as possible."

John's eyebrows raised in surprise at Sherlock's assumption.

"Sherlock, why would you think that?"

"Because you don't want to live in a flat with a man who fancies you."

"Sherlock, I wouldn't move out because to be quite blunt, I need you and you need me, and if I move out we would miserable."

Sherlock was silent, letting those words wash over him. He moved from his place in the kitchen to his place at the window, waiting for John to follow. Finally, he spoke.

"I am in love with you. And that scares me." Sherlock said simply.

"What do you mean 'scared'?"

Sherlock stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing nervously out the window. The gentle hum of cars passing and people speaking of unimportant, frivolous matters usually made him calm, but now it only agitated and tensed him.

John stared at his friend, eyebrow raised and lips turned down. "Sherlock, what makes you scared?"

"John I… look, I… what I mean to say is… I don't know. No, that's stupid. I do know but I have no idea how to say it. I can to Mrs. Hudson. But you… words fail me." His brow was sweating and through his sputtering his lips began to tremble.

"Look, you aren't really making much sense. Why don't you lie down or-"

"No!" he shouted, flustered, "I don't want to lie down. I want you to listen to what I have to say! I didn't think I knew what love was, but then I met you and I thought you were an idiot like the rest of them-"

"Insulting me isn't the best way to get me to listen."

"_I know_. I wasn't finished. I thought you were an idiot,_ but_ you proved me wrong. You proved me so wrong John because after only a matter of minutes I began to realize you were brilliant and I didn't show it because I was angry and I didn't understand what was happening to me and I was scared because I couldn't control it or put reason to it. You're brilliant, John. And I think… I think it's probable, more than probably, in fact… I love you."

Silence filled the room for what seemed like an eternity. John was absolutely speechless, he didn't expect Sherlock make himself vulnerable, put his heart into John's hands to do what he wants. He could hear the world carry on outside, ignorant of their situation. Then, before John could stop himself, he grabbed Sherlock's hand. Surprised by the sudden touch, he flinched a bit, going twelve shades of red. With their fingers laced together, Sherlock hesitantly rested his forehead on John's.

"C'mere and kiss me, you git."

John, taking the initiative, reached with his unoccupied to thread his fingers through Sherlock's curls, efficiently bringing Sherlock's lips upon his. They unlaced their hands to wrap their arms around the other. Sherlock being a bit too enthusiastic, kissed too hard making John go backward into the mantle.

"Shit."

He felt the back of his head with his fingers and brought them into the light, no blood but it feels a bit tender.

Sherlock stepped back to let John sit down in the chair next to the mantle. "I-I am so sorry John, really John, I-", Sherlock fussed from his spot by the desk.

"Sherlock-"

"Please forgive me John, I don't know where that-"

Then John exploded, "_Sherlock!_"

Sherlock stopped speaking, surprised at being yelled at that loudly by John.

"That was… extremely unexpected," John said as he gazed at Sherlock, rubbing the back of his head.

"Let's not mention that ever again." Sherlock sat in the chair directly in front of the man he'd just attempted to kiss. His hands were folded over his nose and his eyes were crinkled shut: his thinking face.

"So am I supposed to pretend you didn't just kiss me into the mantle?"

"Stop," Sherlock hissed.

"No, we're talking about this." John shuffled across the room to Sherlock's side, kneeling down in front of him. "I want to talk about this."

Sherlock didn't meet John's eyes, refusing to acknowledge the definite change in their relationship. John stood back up, hurt by Sherlock's sudden change in mood.

"I would call you out for being selfish but honestly, I could care less," John muttered.

And so, poor Mrs. Hudson couldn't go up there all day to tell them that there was a package for them at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to all who reviewed/story alerted/faved! It means a lot to us! Also this story takes place after Scandal in Belgravia and from there is AU.**

**My tumblr: lovelyrosesandthings . tumblr . com**

**Co-author: forevernerdy . tumblr . com. She also has another lovely story up called **_**Home with the Holmes**_**. Go check it out!**

**Warnings: Implied sex, nothing graphic.**

**Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

They avoided each other all day and most of the evening. Sherlock kept to the flat, working on experiments, while John got out of the flat somewhere far away. He left right after their fight and didn't come back until 11PM. Sherlock could hear him trudge up the stairs, obviously drunk on copious amounts of alcohol. Sherlock was in the kitchen, looking through his microscope, trying not to acknowledge that John had come home.

"We got a package. Mrs. Hudson said it came in this morning."

Sherlock grunted in response. John made a frustrated noise, slammed the package on the floor and stomped his way into the kitchen.

"You know we can't keep avoiding each other, we have to come to a decision about the, uh, the state of our relationship."

"John you are currently intoxicated so you aren't in your right-"

"Damn it Sherlock, don't you understand? _I want a relationship with you._"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope, staring at John, wide eyed with shock. John kept speaking.

"I _want _you. Can't you see that? Or are you just angry at the fact that you made yourself vulnerable to me? I understand that Sherlock, but if you don't want a relationship with me then _tell _me and stop trying to avoid-"

John was promptly interrupted by Sherlock getting up and hugging him. It was surprising and sweet and tender. Sherlock's fingers were threading through John's hair automatically making him relax. Sherlock pulled back a bit, a blush prominent on his cheeks.

"I'm not good at relationships of any kind, I will do things that will make you mad or frustrated, and I will do things that could possibly get me killed or injured, but I-I love you," he bit his lip a bit at the admittance, "and if you are willing to have me-"

John kissed him this time, effectively shutting him up. The kiss was sweeter this time, softer and less forceful. Sherlock's hands were in John's hair, threading his fingers through the fine, blond locks. John grabbed at Sherlock's hips, bringing them together. Sherlock, surprised at the suddenness of it, broke the kiss.

John looked up at him, with a coy smirk on face, and asked Sherlock, "Come to bed?"

Sherlock, unable to say anything else, nodded silently as they went up to John's bedroom.

Sherlock was the one to wake up first. It was 4:57AM on the little alarm clock. He looked around blearily, not used to having that much sleep. When he does have to sleep, he sleeps maybe three hours, but it's been seven. It was the best sleep he had ever had.

He felt John move as he cuddled more into Sherlock's arms. He couldn't quite hide the wince. He was unexpectedly sore from the activities from the hours before. Sherlock blushed, remembering in detail what happened. Sherlock made sure to catalogue all touches and sensation for future use. He thought of Mycroft and smirked; he can take his comments about Sherlock's lack of a sex life and shove them up his ass. Right now though, he didn't want to worry about Mycroft, he was just content to lie with John for the rest of the day but as luck would have it, Sherlock's stomach decided to grumble loudly. Realizing he hadn't eaten all day yesterday he tried to disentangle himself from John, but he wouldn't have it, tightening his grip on Sherlock's waist.

"Come on John," he laughed a little at how endearing John is, "I'm hungry."

"Way too early, come back."

Sherlock sighed and gave up trying to get up. He got all settled with John pressed up against him and then the shrill sound of his cell phone ruined the whole moment.

"Sherlock," John groaned, "Shut it off."

Sherlock stood, wrapping the sheet around him. John laughed a bit, no doubt remembering their time at Buckingham Palace.

Sherlock answered the phone with his usual "What?"

"Something's happened," Lestrade's voice crackled.

"Obviously."

"A triple murder and a kidnapping," the other side said, "All of the possible are were locked."

"We'll be there."

Sherlock hummed into the phone in response to what Lestrade said and then hung up with a flourish.

Sherlock smiled at John with a grin that could only mean one thing.

"John, we have a case!"

It took all of about ten minutes for them to get showered and dressed and out the door of the flat and onward to the crime scene.

It was a crisp early morning, too early in John's opinion. He looked at Sherlock's face, flushed a bit from the cold. He looked different, more relaxed and happier. John felt warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs, knowing _he _had some part in making Sherlock like that.

They hailed a cab, and hastily climbed in to hide from the cold. Sherlock spouted the address of where they were off to, and then it was silent. The only sound in the cab for awhile was the hum of the engine until John glanced over at Sherlock staring out of the window and noticed that there was still some toothpaste on the corner of mouth.

"Sherlock, face me a moment," John said while gesturing for him to do so.

Sherlock turned to face John and asked, "What is it?"

John reached over to swipe the bit of toothpaste off with his thumb. He swiped over the corner of Sherlock's mouth twice more to get the rest of it off. Once John was done, Sherlock whipped his head around to stare through the window again and the cab suddenly filled with tension.

After a moment John broke the silence, "Is something wrong?"

No response.

"Sherlock?"

"Just thinking, John. Why would there be?" Sherlock said a bit bitingly.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked at him with a confused look on his face.

"I'm sorry, am I supposed to act differently now?"

John looked at Sherlock, and he really truly was genuine in his question. John sighed a little, knowing that of course Sherlock wouldn't totally change. He smiled a bit, happy knowing that their relationship wouldn't change Sherlock completely, he would still be that brilliant, infuriating man, but he loved him for it.

"No, I suppose not, but Sherlock," Sherlock looked at John properly this time, "Try not to snap too much at your lover."

The cab dropped them off in front of a café which John was rather odd. He looked at Sherlock with a questioning look and Sherlock answered, "The actual crime scene is less than a mile away, I just- Well, you didn't have breakfast."

John felt a blush creep up his neck as he realized that Sherlock did this for him.

"What about the investigation?"

"They will be fine for a little while. I'm sure Anderson won't totally screw it up."

John nodded as he went inside the little café. There was no one inside, which wasn't so surprising since it was so early on a Sunday. They sat down in a private corner as a waitress came and took down John's order. They sat in a companionable silence as John ate his breakfast. Once he finished, Sherlock was quick to pay for John's meal. John didn't know how to react so he let it go. Sherlock was indeed a strange man.

As they exited the heated café, they were bombarded by the cold outside. It was gray and cold and it chilled John to his bones. Walking about a mile in the cold is not what John had in mind for a Sunday.

They kept walking toward the crime scene when Sherlock looked down at John. His nose was red from the cold and his hands were stuffed deeply into his jacket pockets. Sherlock, without even thinking, said, "Take my hand."

John looked up, surprised and a little pleased. So he took Sherlock's hand; it was surprisingly warm, despite the cold. John squeezed the hand and smiled at Sherlock who in turn smiled back.

They held hands all the way to the crime scene. Despite it being a crime scene, they were over the moon.

As they approached the police tape, Lestrade was standing there holding open so they can duck under.

"Five minutes."

"That's all I need."

Then Lestrade happened to look down at their clasped hands. He looked up, pleasantly surprised and said, "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," John responded, glad that it wasn't too weird.

Sherlock's hand tightened around John's has they approached the flat where the crime took place. As they walked by Anderson, he muttered, "About bloody time."

Sherlock turned to glare at Anderson, but he was too far gone to notice Sherlock's glaring. When they entered the flat, they immediately saw the dead bodies. There were three of them, a man, a woman, and a little boy. They were pale but no obvious signs of injury, they just looked as if they were sleeping.

Sherlock took a look of the room. He walked over to the windows for signs of being forced open but there were none. He checked under the bed and in the bathroom but still no sign of a break in. But he did find a pink pair of baby booties. They were new, so it couldn't have the boy's booties so a baby was kidnapped, but _why_? They obviously didn't want money or they would be alive, nothing seemed to be stolen, so _what was their motive_?

Sherlock moved on to examine the bodies. He started with the man. There is no bruising, no sign of struggle or assault. There is no bullet wound or any wound at all.

Dead bodies, for the very first time, made Sherlock very, very nervous.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for getting this up so late and for the shortness of it. Life got in the way and things needed to get done so yeah. For those of you who are still with me THANK YOU AND PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.**

Chapter 3

When they got home it was about 7:00 PM that night. Mrs. Hudson was still moving out and about.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm glad you finally came home! I wanted to remind you about that package that was left at the door. I had a feeling you might have… forgotten about it."

They went up the stairs, John weary and tired, Sherlock that exact opposite. They didn't even care about the implication of what Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock's mind was whirring and John was just about to fall asleep going up the stairs.

Once they got to the door of their flat, Sherlock rushed in to find the mysterious package. Sherlock studied the package; there was no mailing address or anything that could give them the identity of whoever left the package. He sat down the package to look for something to open it. When he turned to go into the kitchen John was slumped in the chair asleep, his head up against the back of the chair.

Suddenly Sherlock felt a blush creeping up his neck and his heart racing. The sudden affection for John was overwhelming. He'd never felt anything like this before. All too new, all too fast, it made his head spin a bit. But at that moment he didn't really care as he leaned forward to brush a kiss across John's forehead.

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><p>John woke with a start. By this time, the sun shone bright and dazzling through Sherlock's bedroom window. He wondered how he got to bed last night and realized he must have moved by Sherlock. He smiled to himself a little at that. He groaned a bit stiff from sleep. After he showered and dressed he walked down to where Sherlock was working.<p>

"What time do you have?"

"No one can own time, John," Sherlock smirked from his place at the kitchen table.

"Fine, you arse, what time does the tiny clock on your wrist say?" John said playfully.

Sherlock juts out his wrist towards John to take. John sighed and rolled his eyes and looks at the time.

"Jesus!" John leaned forward to get a better look at the time, to see maybe if he read it wrong, "it's noon!"

"Obviously, John."

John just walked to the ice box silently in search of food but found none.

"Well, it looks like we have nothing to eat here, so I'm going out. Would you like anything?"

"You know I don't."

"See you then."

Sherlock was still diligently working the case, not really paying attention. Before John could stop himself he blurted out, "Love you."

Sherlock stopped whatever he was doing. He wanted to be where human emotions weren't so _complicated,_ where you weren't bombarded by surprising declarations that made your head swim. He didn't know what to say, he knew he was in love with John, but why did knowing that John loved him so earth shattering? Why was it so unbelievable? He didn't know, so John's declaration was met with silence.

"Right," the door shut a little harder than John intended with more hurt in his voice than he intended. Sherlock noticed right away but by the time he noticed, John was gone. So there he sat, so quiet he could hear the gentle ticking of his watch.

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><p>It was several hours before John came home. After much deliberation, he finally decided to actually go up the steps to their flat. When he got to the door he found it was locked. John pounded on the door and got no reply.<p>

"Sherlock?"

Nothing, not even a grunt. Inside he heard a loud bang and dull thump, as if something hit the ground. John pounded even harder on the door with no avail. Mrs. Hudson wasn't in right now to open the door so the quickest option for him was to ram the door. Thankfully, due to John's military career, he has some experience in ramming doors down.

The room smelled of burned flesh. The smoke was thick coming from the kitchen and spreading out into the flat. John made his way through the haze, finding Sherlock groaning and rolling onto his back.

"John!" says Sherlock, recognizing John's shape through the haze. He quickly stood up, a bit wobbly on his feet. Sherlock winced as he got up to face John, with an indignant look on his face. Sherlock's left hand was starting to bruise.

"God, Sherlock what happened?" said as he was peeking into the microwave.

"I was testing whether—"

"Actually, never mind. I don't want to know why there is a bowl of human fingers in the microwave."

They cleaned up the mess as best they could; tomorrow they would clean the rest up. Sherlock looked up at John, still angry. Their eyes locked and he did not to look away.

"We need to talk." They were only inches apart. John's face was red faced brow furrowed. John was so adorable when he was angry.

_Shit, I really shouldn't be thinking—_

"Why didn't you say it back?"

Sherlock really hated feeling this way in the middle of an argument. He still had no idea how to respond. The experiment was an escape from having to think about John and his hurt expression.

"_You _told me that you loved me, kissed me, and even slept with me. Is this your way of taking all of that back? Is this all some sort twisted experiment?"

Sherlock's head was spinning from the confusing assault that was emotion. He was flushed from neck to his ears.

"John, I told you relationship weren't my area—"

"Sherlock, you told me—"

"Please let me finish."

The sorrow and regret caught John off guard, effectively making him stop talking.

"I am so in love with you, you don't even know. When you told me you loved me I wasn't expecting it. No one has ever really felt that way about me. Knowing how _so_ vital you are to me, it's hard for me to imagine someone feeling that about me."

Sherlock's heart was in his throat, his face was on fire, and John was speechless.

"John?"

All of the sudden it just John's arms around his middle, his face burrowed into his chest holding him tight. Sherlock then threaded his fingers through John's hair, reveling in the warmth of him.

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><p>That night they slept in the same room. They were entwined, holding each other just relaxing before falling asleep. He found it incredibly endearing that Sherlock can be this way.<p>

Just as they were on the brink of sleep, Sherlock jerked up.

"John. JOHN. I completely forgot about that package."

"So? Sherlock, it can wait till—"

"No, no this is your fault! You made me forget!"

Sherlock jumped out of bed, racing to the living room. John followed him, tired and _extremely_ irritated. He found Sherlock standing in front of desk opening the package. When he opened it two pink baby shoes fell out.

"Baby shoes? Why would—"

"The case. The murderer is challenging me."

Just as Sherlock voiced his realization, something crashed in the front, right in front of the stairs. Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

John sprang into action, running to where the danger was. Right there in the foyer was a brilliant blue box. And emerging from the box was a man with a tweed suit and a bowtie.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor!"

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


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